


Promise

by stickyyfingers



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Coming to terms with one's feelings, F/M, Fluff, Nightmares, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Time Skip, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyyfingers/pseuds/stickyyfingers
Summary: He always pushed those thoughts down. There was no place for his selfishness in this war, especially not from a foolish puppy crush that had somehow lingered on over the course of five years. Byleth was… wonderful. Strong. Respected by all. She was needed in so many places.Even in the unlikely case she returned his feelings, he did not deserve it, to have her to himself in that way.Written for the headcanon: "Dimitri asking for Byleth's hand at her father's grave."





	Promise

That night, after the battle at Gronder, a new face joined in with the chorus that plagued his dreams.

Not to say that they didn’t also plague his waking hours, although it had gotten hard to distinguish between the two. Ever were they lamenting, a line-up of pale faces that looked at him with with reproach while their eyes shone dull with the lack of life. Another one to join our ranks, they mourned. When will there be enough of us?

He had no answer to give to them. Unlike the others, he noted, Rodrigue’s face was sharp, the memory of him not yet washed away by time.

Dimitri tossed and turned, waking from his feverish half-sleep. His shoulder throbbed with the dull ache of the stab wound, freshly treated by Mercedes earlier that evening. “It will heal in time, as long as you rest yourself,” she had said, gentle hands guiding him to lay down onto the cot they had put up in his tent. “Rest will do you good, Your Highness.”

He had shaken his head, knew from experience that it wouldn’t, but had not protested otherwise, too fatigued to put up much of a fight. He was still numb with grief.

As he sat up, a bitter laugh escaped from his lips. One should think that he had grown accustomed to it by now.

Damn all of this! He slumped forward, clenching his fists hard even as a sharp pain shot through his arm. He didn’t deserve to grieve, not when all of this was his fault. It was him the girl’s knife had aimed for, his blade the one sullied with her brother’s blood. It was for him to bear, and yet Rodrigue… He wondered, how was he ever going to look Felix in the eye again.

Digging his hands into his hair, he choked back a sob. How pitiful. He had told them that he would not weep, would not care if they continued to follow and lost their lives for his campaign. It had been a lie, intended to drive them away, abandon him as they should have long ago. If one should die a senseless death, find oblivion on the battlefield, speckled in blood and guts like the monster he was, it was him. Yet they had persisted, not only Rodrigue, but all of his former classmates, those he once called his friends, and… the professor.

Yes, the professor. So insistent in seeing a person, a human being, in him that had long since died. How much longer until she realized that person was no more? It was ironic; how often had he longed to see her face during the past five years, to see that secret, kind smile just one more time. And now that she was back, he couldn’t bear to look at her.

He could not bear for her to look at him, and see the soulless husk that he had become.

Suddenly, there was a rustling noise from outside.

He looked up, realizing he had been pacing again. Foolish, he berated himself, letting his mind grow unaware. What if it was an intruder? Eyes scanning through the darkness, he tried to fumble for the weapons’ rack, to no avail. He kicked his foot in frustration, toe hitting something solid. “Curses!”

Another rustle, this time right outside his tent. He paused. After a few moments went by without an attacker storming in, his shoulders slumped, and he released the breath he had been holding.

He had a feeling he knew who it was.

When nothing more could be heard, he reluctantly laid back down onto his cot, resting his head against the pillow.

It took a few minutes until he heard the flap of his tent being shifted, quietly so not to wake him. The clacking steps of heel on hardened soil approached, and then someone sat down beside him. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know the familiar presence. Once she had seated herself, she shifted slightly, leaning over him with her hand hovering only a few inches over his chest.

Hesitant, he thought, quite unlike her. In a momentary lapse of judgment, he almost wanted to reach out and meet her halfway, lace her fingers through his, rise up and clutch her to his chest, her warm breath at his neck— He banished such thoughts. Scrunching his eyes, he tried his best to keep his breath even, a flimsy pretense of sleep. He could not allow himself to follow such whims, accept her misplaced tenderness, addressed to a boy that did not exist anymore. But… if he were unaware, if she thought him asleep, he supposed there was no harm in allowing himself to remain like this just once.

After a while, she pulled her hand back with a soft sigh, and he pushed down the regret that welled up in his throat, mourning the missed chance. She continued to sit there silently, until his thoughts started drifting off for real again. He tried to fight against it, but the pull of fatigue was too strong, his resistance wavering with each moment she remained.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, and when he woke up to the early fog of dawn, she was gone.

No more nightmare came to him that night.

***

Through some unspoken agreement, the professor, no, Byleth, made it a habit to visit him at night after that. She seemed to have some kind of sixth sense for when he was troubled, when the voices of the dead grew loud enough to be impossible to ignore. Gradually, he began to have less and less dreams, and with the dreams also grew quieter the phantoms that haunted him during his waking hours. He never expressed his gratitude, never even gave an indication that he knew, yet she continued sitting vigil all the same, the whole way back to the monastery and all the weeks of regrouping that followed.

On several occasions he caught her asleep beside him, having nodded off while sitting or slumped over. Luckily (regrettably) she remained at distance even in her sleep. He mourned her hesitation, but on the other hand he was not sure how he could have handled it, waking up to her in his arms.

So he continued his act of being unaware. Bit by bit, his clear thoughts returned, and with them came the desire to move forward, finally end this war that had already cost too many lives.

He conceived his plan without telling anyone, yet of course it was her who anticipated him anyway, catching up to him at the stables just as he was about to depart for Enbarr. He had thought himself resolved, intent on not giving in to her tender mercies, her hopeful words that there was a future for him besides revenge. Yet, as the rain poured down on them, and she finally, finally reached out her hand for him to take (how warm it was), it was as if a dam broke inside his mind. Maybe he did not deserve such a future, after everything that he had done, but… if she alone still cared about him despite all this, he found himself selfishly wanting it anyway.

And so he finally found the bravery to face his comrades, face his responsibilities towards his people that he had so long neglected. He made sure to look each of them in the eye, to withhold their gazes, judgmental and wary yet also with a glimmer of hope. He understood their mistrust; he had wronged them greatly, casting aside his duty towards the living in favor of the dead. Yet, he hoped that he could convey through his eyes what could not be put into words—a genuine desire for atonement.

Feeling Byleth’s proud gaze on him as he spoke of retaking Fhirdiad elated him in a way he’d missed for far too long.

***

After that, it was him who found himself gravitating towards her. Almost unconsciously he would seek her out, in between battles, in the nightly halls of the monastery after a day of rigorous training, when he was pouring over paperwork procured by Gilbert, over reports from the Kingdom’s lords, and over battle strategies. It was always in the pretense of needing something, advice, counsel, a second set of hands.

But he was not lying to himself; it was her company that he craved. Seeing her eyes light up whenever she saw him dedicating himself to a task—something other than the goal of revenge—felt cathartic. He supposed he had always craved her approval, even back in his academy days, when he had been but a whelp trying to fit into shoes far too big for him. People were talking, he knew, speculating about his newfound drive as well as the nature of their relationship. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Sometimes he caught himself at wishful thinking, yearning for the rumors to be true.

He always pushed those thoughts down. There was no place for his selfishness in this war, especially not from a foolish puppy crush that had somehow lingered on over the course of five years. Byleth was… wonderful. Strong. Respected by all. She was needed in so many places.

Even in the unlikely case she returned his feelings, he did not deserve it, to have her to himself in that way.

They retook Fhirdiad with pomp and fanfare, and he almost felt like he was floating, seeing how his people rejoiced at his return; how they had lost, but also hoped. The guilt churned heavy in his stomach, but there was it again, her reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“The best thing you can do for them is to become the king that they deserve.”

Sinking his head, he smiled to himself. She was right, as usual.

Then began the long process of rebuilding, reforging old alliances. Making new ones. They came to Claude’s aid when he called for help, Imperial troops at the city gates of Derdriu, because he felt it was the right thing to do. Claude laughed at him when he voiced that thought, afterwards. “I’d been setting my hopes on you being a bunch of soft-hearted suckers.”

All too soon they were set to march for Enbarr, to finally put an end to this war. For good. On the eve of their departure he went to Byleth’s room, intending to go over some city maps they had procured last minute. He found it empty, and when he asked around, no one seemed to know of her whereabouts. For a few uneasy minutes, he felt a cold shiver of fear creep up his spine, until Mercedes eased his worries, pointing him to the graveyard. “She has been visiting the grave of the late Captain, I believe,” she said, a sad smile on her face.

He didn’t need to be told twice, almost forgetting to thank Mercedes as he dashed off. And indeed, bounding down the eastern stairs, he was met with the dark, familiar sight of her cloak. She didn’t seem to notice his arrival, standing with her back towards him. Like this, he thought, she looked strangely lonely.

Before he could stop himself, he was approaching her, arm extended. “Profe—” She jumped. Realizing his mistake, he cut himself off immediately, but it was too late.

Slowly, she turned towards him.

You callous fool, he thought, sinking his head. Her mind must have been with her father, and there he went, demanding for her time anyway. He cursed himself for his lack of thought.

“Dimitri?”

He grit his teeth. “I… apologize for interrupting. I just realized that it can wait until later. Will you stop by my quarters once you are done here—”

“Dimitri. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he raised his head again, and was taken aback by the intensity of her gaze. A few moments passed by with the two of them just staring. He could get lost forever in those green-glowing depths.

At last, she must have found what she was looking for, because she released a slow breath, almost in resignation. This time it was her who looked away, turning her head towards the far distance of the setting sun. “What do you…“ She paused for a moment, wrapping her arms around herself.

Feeling his hands tremble beneath heavy gloves, he pushed them behind his back, locking his fingers. He longed for nothing more than to embrace her.

“Once the war is over, do you know what you will do? If there will be a place for you?”

His eyes widened. “I… suppose I’ll have to finally assume my responsibility. As king.”

When she didn’t react, he heaved a resigned sigh. There she went again, asking questions he did not have an answer for. ”To be honest with you, I don’t know. Don’t know if there is a place for me in this world, I mean. But… as long as Faerghus is in need of rebuild, as long as the people of Fódlan are suffering, I think I have a reason to keep marching forward.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and a small, wistful smile danced on her lips. “I’m glad.”

His heart skipped a beat. Bathed in the orange light of the evening she looked almost ethereal, like an incarnation of the Goddess herself. It had always been hard, trying to ignore the pull of her strange, deep beauty, but these days she seemed different. Somehow more real, and yet more far away than she had ever been before.

“What was it you needed?” Her voice pulled him from his musings. He blinked, and her face was back to being all business, almost as if he’d imagined the soft look from before.

“Right. There have been—I mean…” He cleared his throat, voice strangely raspy. “I’d intended to go over some maps Gilbert was able to procure. Of inner city Enbarr.”

She nodded. “Of course. Shall we go to the meeting hall?”

“Yes, ah—” He looked back and forth between her and the grave she had been visiting. “If you’re done here…”

“I’m done.”

The finality in her tone left him little room to argue. “Alright then, go right ahead. I’ll meet you there in a bit. I still have… something to sort out.”

Her gaze was questioning, but she made no further comment. Walking past him, she made her way up the stairs, the arms of her cloak trailing behind her. He looked after her retreating form until she disappeared behind the terrace wall. Only then did he manage to tear his gaze away, directing it instead to the marble gravestone that she had been visiting.

“Byleth…” he murmured, her name tasting like salvation on his tongue. “I think I understand now.” In truth, it had not been him that she had been asking, but herself.

She was like a pillar, projecting the strength and guidance people looked for, that people needed in midst of all this chaos and the sorrow. It was a habit she had probably acquired during her days as professor, always looking out for her students. Being the warm hand to guide them, protect them and give comfort. But she also had loved, and lost. Sometimes that was a bit too easy to forget, a bit to easy to let oneself depend on her entirely. In truth, she was wandering, just like all of them. Maybe even more so. She did not have a single person left to herself in this world.

“I apologize,” Dimitri told the gravestone. “But I think I must be selfish after all. I might be far from the kind of person she deserves, but… I want to be the one who comforts her. I want to be there for her, when she needs me, just as she has been for me. And I want to be the only one. So, all things said…”

He closed his eyes, trying to picture the kind of future he hoped for, that he wanted for himself after everything was over. No matter what possible outcome he thought up, she always seemed present.

“I’m not a good man. But I want to try and be one, for her. I’d… like to think I would have your approval.”

No answer came, of course. He suppressed a smile at the irony; that was the first time he had actually wanted to speak to the dead. That they should elude him now, it was only fitting with the strange course the Goddess seemed to have carved for his life.

He turned around, having nothing more to add. It would not do to make Byleth wait, so he would save thinking about the specifics for later. First, they had to win this war, after all.

When he walked up the stairs, a gust of wind stirred up the collar of his cloak, making tufts of fur tickle his face. He could have imagined it, but in between the breaths of air, quiet and distant, it was almost as if the currents carried a whisper of words.

_Thank you._


End file.
